Promises are Presents
by Tracy Diane Miller
Summary: On his birthday, Gary recalls a very special childhood memory.


Promises Are Presents  
  
Summary: On his birthday, Gary recalls a very special childhood memory.  
  
Disclaimer: Early Edition characters belong to their creators. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is being made.  
  
Author: Tracy Diane Miller  
  
E-mail address: tdmiller82@hotmail.com  
  
Promises Are Presents  
  
He could hear the determination in Mom's voice. Nothing would keep Lois Hobson from seeing her boy today on his birthday, not even a broken ankle.  
  
She was being irrational. But of course he'd never tell her that. Still, Gary knew that he had to say something, anything, to convince Mom to see things his way. She and Dad didn't need to come all the way to Chicago just to celebrate his birthday. What he really wanted was for Mom to take care of herself.  
  
He would tell her that if she'd ever give him a chance to speak. They had been on the phone for nearly ten minutes and so far the only things that she had permitted him to say were "Yes, Mom. I'm eating fine. Yes, I'm dressing warmly. No, I'm not seeing anyone." His last remark had produced a loud, pained sigh from her. "Sorry." He quickly added. Gary wasn't sure why he felt the need to apologize; okay, maybe he did know why. Ever since his divorce, Mom made no secret of the fact that she wanted him to remarry and that she wanted grandchildren. She also made it a point to inform him of the recent changes in Hickory's vital statistics. Like the fact that Joe and Deb were expecting another baby. How lucky Joe's mom is to have so many grandchildren. A son should give his mother grandchildren. Every mother dreams of holding a grandchild .  
  
"I just hope that I'll have some grandchildren before I die." Lois said with an undercurrent of dramatics peppering her words.  
  
Oh Boy.  
  
Nothing like a guilt trip or feeling like a failure on one's birthday, huh? Gee, thanks Mom. Gary's inner voice said sarcastically.  
  
But Gary knew that the intent of Mom's speech wasn't to hurt him. She just wanted something that he supposed all mothers wanted for their children: marriage and a family of their own. Gary wished that he could give her that. He wished that he could give himself that.  
  
Mom had even offered to help him find a woman. Great, like it wasn't enough having a demanding orange tabby running his life. He certainly didn't need his "mommy" getting him a date. Not that his early edition condoned the idea of him dating anyway. Over the years, whenever he showed any interest in a woman, The Paper always seemed to mess things up. The list of his failed prospective relationships was staggering: Meredith, Emma, Renee, Brigatti, and Rebecca. If he were meant to have a meaningful relationship with any of these women, no one told The Paper. Maybe he was nuts for thinking of The Paper as if it were a person, but that was the way The Paper seemed to him. The Paper was his "significant other" and his days (and sometimes nights) were spent fulfilling The Paper's wishes. Gary knew that his parents were proud of the sacrifices that he had made in the name of heroics, but Mom insisted that he needed more in his life than a cat and a newspaper. Why did romance and heroics need to be mutually exclusive? He had often pondered that question.  
  
"Oh, Gary. I forgot to tell you. I saw Renee Callahan today and she asked about you. Do you know that she's still single?" Lois said matter-of- factly.  
  
Gary knew that Mom had hoped that a romance would develop between him and Renee. Mom was about as subtle as a sledgehammer implying that she would be thrilled to have a girl like Renee for a daughter-in-law.  
  
"Mom!" He was finally able to break through the conversation just as Mom was telling him about Mrs. Something or Other's Daughter, an attractive, intelligent, caring young woman who just happened to have recently moved to Chicago.  
  
Gary didn't mean for his utterance to emerge with such force, but he felt as if he were in a lifeboat set adrift in a tsunami. Mom's dreams of wedded bliss for him (as well as her machinations to achieve that goal) were making him exhausted.  
  
"You don't have to yell, Gary. I'm not deaf." Lois scolded.  
  
Gary rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "Sorry." He apologized again. Why did talking to his mother always make him feel like a six-year- old?  
  
A brief silence.  
  
"There's no reason why you and Dad should drive all the way to Chicago today."  
  
"No reason?" Lois replied, shocked. "Are you saying that you don't want us, your parents who see so little of you to begin with, to spend time with you on your birthday? Are you saying that you don't want us there, that you don't want to see us?" Lois fired off questions with the perfect precision of a skilled marks woman.  
  
Oh Boy.  
  
"Of course not, Mom. Of course I want to see you guys, but didn't the doctor say that you needed to rest that ankle? Broken bones should be allowed to heal properly and that's not always easy especially..."  
  
"...when you're old? Is that what you were about to say? Are you calling me old, Gary Hobson?" Lois accused.  
  
Why did this conversation make him as if he were on the losing side at the Alamo?  
  
"No, Ma'am. I was...I was just going to say that broken bones are nothing to fool around with. Mom, can I speak to Dad, please?"  
  
Lois handed Bernie the phone. "Here, Bernie. Talk to your son." Lois said, the hurt evident in her voice.  
  
Bernie took the phone. "Happy Birthday, Gar."  
  
"Thanks, Dad. Listen, Dad. You have to talk to Mom. She shouldn't be traveling with that ankle. And I'd feel a lot better if I knew that you were home taking care of her than I would having both of you coming here for my birthday. The Paper has me pretty busy today anyway."  
  
"Wild horses wouldn't keep us away from you today. Remember that birthday when you turned seven? I told you that I wouldn't miss it and I didn't. Not even Mother Nature could keep me away from you that day. Remember?" Bernie inquired.  
  
A rare smile crossed Gary's face. "Yeah. Yeah, Dad. I remember."  
  
* * * * * *  
  
September 17, 1972  
  
It was getting late. All of the kids were getting ready to go home. The candied flowers gracing the chocolate cake looked limp and defeated. Remnants of vanilla and chocolate ice cream on the discarded plates of some of the children appeared bored, too. It was as if the formerly solid substance, cold and proud, now mingled and surrendered in a watery mess.  
  
Gary hadn't expected a birthday party. Mommy and Daddy must have gone through a lot of trouble arranging everything and inviting the kids without him knowing about it. And he had gotten some neat presents, too. Toy cars and trucks, a Superman action figure, and a remote control helicopter that twirled around the room with the push of a button. It was the kind of birthday that any kid would want. Except for Gary, this birthday lacked the one thing that he wanted more than anything in the world.  
  
Daddy.  
  
Three days ago, Daddy's job sent him on a trip out of state. Daddy was in some far away place where there were snow-covered mountains. That's what Mommy had said, anyway. He had spoken to Daddy last night on the phone. Daddy promised that he'd be back for Gary's birthday and that he'd bring with him the puppy that Gary had asked for.  
  
"You promise?" The little voice whispered.  
  
"I promise son. I promise."  
  
But that was before a freak snowstorm had trapped Bernie in Colorado. The weather reports had issued advisories warning against traveling. Lois told Gary the news this morning. She assured him that they would have another birthday celebration once Bernie returned home.  
  
Gary nodded his understanding. Still, his little heart was broken. Gary wanted Daddy with him today. He didn't even care about that puppy. He just wanted his daddy.  
  
Gary willed himself not to cry. It wasn't Daddy's fault that there had been a snowstorm. It wasn't Daddy's fault that he had broken his promise.  
  
All the kids had finally left. Lois was cleaning up from the party. She periodically glanced at her son. It was his birthday and he looked so sad as he stared out the window with his eyes glazed with tears.  
  
Then, without warning, it happened. Jumping up and down and screaming excitedly, Gary said, "Mommy! Mommy, Daddy's here! Daddy's here!" Gary ran towards the front door.  
  
Lois couldn't believe her ears or her eyes, but it was true. For the door flung up and there stood Bernie, grinning like a Cheshire cat. In Bernie's arms was a small collie was a big red ribbon tied around its neck.  
  
"Happy birthday, kiddo. I promised you that I'd be back for your birthday, didn't I? I love you, son."  
  
"I love you, Daddy."  
  
"I love you, Gar." The sound of Bernie's voice shook Gary from his reverie.  
  
"I love you, Dad. And I love Mom."  
  
"So, you understand?" Bernie asked.  
  
Gary smiled again. "Yeah, Dad. I understand. Just promise me that you'll drive safely, okay?"  
  
"I will, son. We'll see you soon." With those words, Bernie hung up the phone. Gary held the phone for a moment before placing it back on the cradle.  
  
And he did understand. Birthdays weren't about cake and gifts. They were about spending time with the people you love and who love you. That promise was a present that one would never outgrow.  
  
The End. 


End file.
